“Tait, if you surrender not, I will be forced to choke you out,” Breandán warned, tightening his hold around Tait’s neck.
Tait struggled violently to pull his head from Breandán’s clutch.
Breandán used his left hand and pulled up on his own arm, increasing the leverage under Tait’s jaw, cutting off a much needed blood supply to the brain. He was not about to give the man leniency anymore, especially since the idiot had pulled a knife on him and aimed to take his life.
He advised Tait once more. “Give up, Northman, lest I put you to sleep.”
Tait continued to jerk and writhe, leaving Breandán with no other choice but to apply the last bit of pressure to his throat. It took a few seconds more, but eventually, Tait’s body wilted and collapsed across Breandán’s legs.
He sighed and released the Northman, lying back on the floor in exhaustion.
Mara ran to Breandán, sliding to her knees, her voice and hands both trembling in shock. His left brow was split and bleeding. “Are you all right?” she asked, immediately lifting the corner of her tunic to his wound.
He nodded his head, breathless as he watched her eyes fall across Tait.
“You killed him?”
Breandán immediately sat up, though his weakened body was not quite ready to do so. The muscles in his arms ached from ratcheting Tait's neck and his shoulders burned as he held himself upright. He ignored the pain and looked her in the eye. “He is only sleeping, Mara. I swear to you. He is not dead.”
Blood trickled from his brow and streamed down his face. “You are bleeding,” Mara stated, gathering more of her tunic and pressing the wad of cloth above his eye.
He wanted to comfort her, to tell her he barely felt the sting of the gash, but at that moment, Ottarr, Nevan, and a third Northman came running in, the shock evident in their faces as they laid eyes upon Tait’s motionless body.
Judging by the sudden streak of anger on Ottarr’s face, Breandán knew he had only moments to explain before he’d have another angered Northman to wrestle. “I have not killed him. He is merely sleeping.”
“Sleeping?” Ottarr gnarled between his teeth, the idea sounding even more preposterous as he repeated it.
“I tried to get Tait to calm down, but he drew his dagger. And with Mara in here—”
“Well done,” Nevan interrupted. It seemed Mara’s safety was reason enough for him to side with Breandán on the matter. “How long will he be…” There was a sense of hilarity in the king’s voice as he cocked his head and inquired about Tait’s condition. “Asleep?”
“Not long, I am afraid. When he does awaken, rest assured he will have a splitting headache.”
“And you?” Nevan asked, eyeing Mara curiously. “Are you all right?”
“I am.”
“Good,” Nevan declared in relief. He then glanced at the Northmen at his side. “Well, it seems we have all seen the furious side of Tait. Let us not wait around any longer to see the enraged side of him. Ottar…Gunnar. Carry him to the mead hall. And tie him up, too.”
Ottarr and Gunnar did as they were told, though neither looked pleased as they neared Tait’s body and gathered him up. Breandán knew he walked on eggshells when it came to the Norse on the isle and now he’d crushed all hope of earning their favor with this little incident.
“My apologies to you, Nevan, for the trouble I have caused you.”
“Nonsense,” Nevan replied, crossing his arms to his chest. “We all expected Tait’s abhorrence with your presence—though no one would have predicted this outcome. My apologies to you for not getting here sooner. I am merely grateful no one was hurt, especially Mara.” He smiled at her for a long moment before addressing Breandán again. “We have much to discuss now that Tait is here. I shall send for you when he awakens.”
Breandán watched the king leave, not exactly looking forward to facing everyone in the mead hall. He was glad for the king’s support, but a bit nervous as to how little the Northmen would care for his opinions after their chieftain had been defeated.
Defeated. The notion of bringing the Norse chieftain to his knees should have brought a smile to his face, but frankly, he wished there could have been some other way. At least for Tait to have kept his dignity in the process.
He recalled the heated struggle. The repeated warnings he gave the Northman while losing his own ground in hopes Tait would come to his senses. The fool proved to be too stubborn and too blinded by his own rage to foresee his own demise.
Mara stood to gather water from an ewer and some clean cloths from the storage, obviously fixed on tending his wound. Breandán made an attempt to follow her, but she came rushing back to him on the floor.
“Stay,” Mara said, falling to her knees. “Let me help you.”
He looked at her, sensing her timidity. He didn’t think it was the sight of blood that caused her to be shaken, as he assumed she saw enough of it in her day. “I am well. Fret not over me.”
She ignored him and began soaking the cloths in the cool water, seemingly deep in thought as she wrung them out. He sat beside her, waiting for her to care for his bleeding wound, though she still seemed hesitant. “Is it that bad?”
His words brought her back to reality and she forced a half smile, shaking her head. She didn’t enlighten him with words. She only reached up apprehensively as if she feared she’d hurt him, and wiped below his laceration. She cleaned the blood that had streaked down his face and neck, taking great pains to be careful.
“I am sorry I caused you so much distress with Tait. I had little choice once he pulled his dagger.”
Mara met his gaze for a split second and went back to her task, stroking the damp linen down his jaw and neck. “You did what you had to.”
Breandán fought the impulse to embrace her, to comfort her, but he restrained himself. As an alternative, he let time tick by, hoping to give her some time to recuperate and regain her complacency with him.
This morning, when they partook in the bow lesson, he recalled how wonderful it was, how much she smiled with him. He wanted her to get back to that moment, back to when she felt secure with him. Comfortable. As he focused on the way her hand trembled and the unsteadiness of her breathing, he knew she was not at all comfortable anymore. He couldn’t begin to imagine the things she mulled over.
“What are you afraid of?” he asked.
Mara’s gaze jumped to his. She pressed the wadded up linen upon his brow, trying to stop the bleeding with pressure. She held it for some time before she found words to speak. “I was afraid Tait was going to kill you.”
He smiled, appreciative of her concern, but she didn’t understand him. He reached up and covered her hand, helping her to press the linens harder against his brow. “I mean…what are you afraid of now?”
Chapter Twenty
Mara swallowed and glanced at Breandán’s hand clutching hers, her mind caught in a whirlwind. The whole time Tait and Breandán were fighting, she couldn’t help but feel terrified, especially after seeing so much blood pour from Breandán’s eye. She knew neither would walk out of the skirmish without some sort of injury—cuts and black eyes, or even a bruised pride. But she had no idea she would feel so much more when it came to Breandán’s safety. She was beside herself with worry, especially after seeing the look in Tait’s eyes when he drew his dagger. She was utterly panic-stricken knowing Tait had every intention of killing Breandán on the spot.
If not for Tait lying horrifyingly lifeless on her longhouse floor, she would have embraced Breandán out of sheer relief. So, why did it seem nonsensical to do it now that they were all alone?
She closed her eyes, trying to sort out her scrambling emotions.
“You can tell me,” Breandán encouraged her softly, his other hand now upon her face.
She opened her eyes as she felt his tender touch across her cheekbone while, together, they still held pressure to his brow.
“I am afraid…” The words she wanted to say next didn’t sound
right in her head. She tried another way. “I think I want to kiss you. I think. But…I am afraid. I am afraid when I close my eyes, all I will see is Dægan. And ‘tis not fair to you. I want not to hurt you.”
Breandán stroked a piece of loose hair from her face and smiled. She watched that thought tumble around in his head. She assumed he’d retract both hands from her and slip back into the reserved gentleman he had always been. Strangely, he didn’t seem interested in letting her go, still holding tight to her hand upon his wound.
“Is that all you are afraid of?” he asked, his eyes deeply gazing into hers.
Her words failed her. His stare captured her. He was such a beautiful man, his delicate touch rippling through her body. She could only nod.
Breandán released his left hand from hers and cupped her face, though she remained holding the linens above his eye. Tenderly, his thumbs caressed her cheeks ever so lightly. “If you fear you will only see Dægan when you close your eyes, then leave them open.”
Her heart stopped.
Her breath caught as he drew near, his eyes falling on her lips. He was going to kiss her. He was actually going to kiss her and she hadn’t the will to stop him. Her body felt as pliable as bread dough in his hands and nothing else mattered but what he was about to do.
She wanted this.
Wanted it more now than ever.
She felt chills crawl up her spine and heat pool at her core, barely remembering how those sensations had once felt. She only wished she knew what she was doing, wished she had a better hold of her emotions.
His lips came close to pressing against hers. She could smell his masculine scent as clear as if she were burying her nose in his tunic. And she could feel his breath scarcely caressing her top lip as he lingered. Her eyelids automatically closed with anticipation, but his voice stopped her.
“Open your eyes, Mara. Open them and know ‘tis I who kisses you.”
She dragged them open, his voice like a subtle touch, soothing and erotic. His aqua eyes mesmerized her until the moment their lips finally met. Fire burned through her as the heat of his soft lips branded her own. All she could see and feel was him. All she could think about was how wonderful his mouth felt on hers, how sensuous his kiss was.
“Breathe, a thaisce.”
Until he spoke, she hadn’t realized she was holding her breath and was doubly amazed he was perceptive enough to notice.
He slowly released her face. “Tell me,” he whispered, his eyes sultry and beguiling. “Who did you see when I kissed you?”
A smile graced her lips. “Only you.”
He smiled with her and returned his grasp upon her hand clutching the blood-stained linen at his brow. “I know you love Dægan. And I know he still occupies a significant place in your heart. But I am not here to replace him. Nor will I ever try. I only wish to fill what is left of your heart, if you will let me.”
His heartfelt touch soothed her, his kind words flowed like a cool river through her heated soul. But she was still unconvinced she needed this. Needed him.
Oh, she wanted him. Her body tolde her that. But needing him was quite a different matter. She was a mother now, whose main concern was her son. And what would Lochlann think of this? What would he think about Breandán being in her life?
The last thing she wanted was to make Lochlann feel second best, or make him think she didn’t love his own father anymore. Lochlann only had the mind of a six-year-old and those thoughts would no doubt run through his brain. Having been without a father for so long, he may not take well to someone else in his life.
But then her thoughts ran toward this morning, when Breandán had carried her son on his shoulders and the sound of his laughter filling her ears. Lochlann had warmed up to Breandán and he seemed very happy with his companionship. So much so that she began to think Lochlann might be fond of having Breandán as a father.
A father?
She blinked back the sound of those words. Where did that come from?
She had never given thought to anyone being a father to Lochlann. She could barely bring herself to think it when Tait had suggested Gunnar as a suitable husband. But with Breandán, the idea seemed to come naturally. And it didn’t scare her to imagine it. If anything, it brought her a sense of peace. A sense of knowing Lochlann would be better for it. That having Breandán in his life would be what was best for him.
And if her son was happy, she was too.
If only she could stop feeling guilty for the happiness Breandán was bringing her. If only she could kiss him without thinking how it would affect everyone else—and though it hardly mattered—how it would make Dægan feel. That was the hardest of all, for she felt she needed his permission.
“Are you all right?” Breandán asked, tilting his head. “Did I say something wrong?”
She inhaled deeply and met his eyes. “Nay, you are correct. I do love Dægan and I always will.” Her head fell as she could no longer look him in the eye. “I would like to think I have a place in my heart for you, considering all you have done for me in the past and what you continue to do for me now. But I am not certain I have any heart left. I gave all of mine to Dægan.”
It broke her heart to hurt Breandán, but she felt she had to let him know. She had to be honest. It pained her to want him so badly and to hold back for fear Dægan would not approve.
A tear slipped from her eye and slowly trickled down her cheek. Breandán reached out with his free hand and caught it with his finger, lifting her chin in the process. “If you have not a heart left, then take all of mine.”
A smile flitted across her lips. “How is it you know exactly what to say to me?”
Breandán neared her again, this time sliding his hand along her jaw and threading it into her hair. “I have never been good with words. But when I am with you, they simply seem to emerge, as if straight from my heart to my mouth.” He leaned forward now, his eyes darker. “Love is not a choice, Mara. ‘Tis what happens. Naturally.”
She wanted to look away, to keep from glancing at his beautiful lips, especially his bottom one. It was fuller than his top and she, despite her effort, was hopelessly drawn to it. She wanted to feel his kiss again, go deeper into it to find his tongue. But she knew she shouldn’t. She was not ready to feel this kind of passion from him, not now when her mind was still spinning. She could barely grasp her own emotions much less feel all of his in an open-mouthed kiss.
“I need time,” she whispered.
“Of course you do.”
She felt the slip of his large hand from her face and saw the slight hint of a smile falter from his lips in disappointment. “I imagine Nevan will be sending for me soon anyway.”
Mara heard his words insinuating upon cautiousness, that it would be better he not be found this close to her. And as he drew back, he pulled her hand from his brow, removing the need for her to be close to him as well.
“I mean not to press anything upon you,” Breandán said. “But now would be a good time to let me know what you decided about Callan. If you want to go to him, I will not leave your side. It has become increasingly dangerous for you to travel across Connacht with the king in such a vulnerable state. If you choose not to, then this meeting with Nevan and Tait will be rather unnecessary.”
Mara’s heart sank. “And what does that mean for you? Will you be leaving the isle?”
“I want not to leave, Mara, but…” he looked at her, his eyes engaging, “the reasons which hold me here will not please Tait. And I have already caused enough trouble for you.”
She looked down, aimlessly gazing into her lap. She knew this day would come, but between the joy Breandán had brought to her and the friendship he had won with her son, she didn’t have much time to ponder her choice. And now Breandán admitted wanting to stay because of her. But if she decided not to see her father, then she would be taking away the only reputable excuse Breandán had for staying. She’d be forcing him to leave, and leave he would. She believed it because th
is was Breandán. He had always put her first above his own desires. And even now as they sat alone on her longhouse floor, when there was virtually nothing to stop him, he put aside his deep-rooted longings and remained honorable.
“Mara,” he whispered, covering her knotted fist with his palm. “Let not anything sway you—not me, not Tait, or even the dangers you may face. If you want to see him, I shall take you. And not because Callan has ordered me to, but because I want to. Your safety is all I care about and I will protect you with every breath I take.”
Honorable indeed. “And what about the dangers you face, Breandán, if I choose not to go? The ones Óengus mentioned. What has my father threatened to do?”
Breandán inhaled deeply. “I was hoping you would forget Óengus’ words.”
“Hardly. Especially when it involves putting you or your family in the throes of my father’s menacing ways. I have learned much about my father in these last seven years—what he is capable of. And if he has threatened you in any way, I want to know.”
“That is all they are. Threats. Naught more.”
“To you perhaps, but I have never known my father to not carry out any threat he makes.”
Breandán drew near again, his eyes as honest as she had ever seen them. “And I have never known him to forsake his daughter either, but he certainly did.”
She swallowed, his close presence thwarting every ounce of restraint. Her body yearned to be closer to him, feeling the warmth of his arms and smelling the deep, rich scent of his body. She knew if she fell into his embrace now, she’d never want to leave. But somehow, she found the strength to resist.
“If I go not to my father, I fear I will regret it. At least if I go, I can find the answers I have been asking in my head for so long. Am I wrong for wanting those things?”
He smiled kindly. “Of course not. You have a right to know. Though,” he said, pausing, “I imagine his reason, if he tells you at all, may be hard to swallow.”
The Emerald Isle Trilogy Boxed Set Page 52
